Close Call
by Grissom
Summary: -Story Complete--- An attack leaves Grissom in the hospital, fighting for life. Sara stays with him while the other CSI's work to find his attacker. GS
1. Default Chapter

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Damn the invention of pagers, Sara though to herself as the machine hidden in her pocket began to vibrate. She sighed and pulled it out, reading the display.

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Double homicide 863 South Street Come ASAP Grissom

She sighed again and shoved it back into her pocket. _Great,_ she thought, _another day stuck with Grissom. _And why had he chosen her, with his obvious discomfort around her, to help him? Her heart fluttered for a moment. Perhaps he wanted to talk with her, explain why he kept his distance.

She shook her head. No, he probably asked her because everyone else was busy on other cases. She knew that Nick and Catherine were on a drowning case, and Warrick was on leave after a relative's death. That left only her to help with field work.

Well, at least there was always something she could learn from him. About forensics, that is. While Grissom's knowledge of forensics was astounding, he had a void where his people skills should have been. _Guess that's what happens when you marry your work and stick around the dead for so long._

******Some time later she saw the familiar flashing of police lights and the familiar yellow tape. She pulled up as close as she could, then got out of her car. She stepped past the tape, flashed her CSI badge, and stepped into the alley. The usually dark alley was alight with police flashlights, giving it an eerie feel with the shadows. She pulled her flashlight from her bag and began to look around.

Two bodies lay on the ground in pools of blood. Wooden crates from the warehouse in front of the alley littered the floor, some knocked from their stacks in a struggle. Police were beginning to file out, leaving the CSI's to work undisturbed. The word 'forensics' on the back of one man's jacket caught her eye, and she made her way over to him, careful not to disturb anything.

Grissom stood with his back to her, hands by his side in a tense position. Sara also saw that his eyes were distant. He looked completely lost in thought..

"Grissom?" Sara asked gently, unsure of whether he was concentrating on the case or simply lost in a memory.

He blinked once, then turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he held the eye contact, then abruptly broke it off. "Um...good, you're here." _Stupid! Of course she's here!_ He was momentarily awed by the site of her, something that happened a good bit, but was usually pushed away before he could do anything stupid. He shook his head again.

"Here," he said, pointing to the first body, "we have Britney Ganash, age twenty-two. Prostitute. And here we have an unidentified male. Cause of death seems to be severe head trauma, probably beaten with a blunt object."

Sara nodded. _Leave it to Grissom to jump right into work. No 'hi' or 'how are you doing?'. _Who discovered the bodies?"

"A twelve-year-old kid. Says he was taking a shortcut home when he stepped in something." He shined his flashlight on a pool of blood, where a child's footprint was clearly visible. "He ran home and called 9-1-1."

Sara knelt by the woman's body, pulling out a pair of gloves as she did. Grissom knelt beside her. He extended his arm to show her something, brushing lightly against her as he did. A small chill ran down her spine, but she tried not to let it show. She wasn't creeped out by the touch, it seemed to arouse the feelings that she surpressed. She wanted him to touch her again, just to feel his presence, but he shifted, moving slightly away from her.

"We've got some major lacerations on her temple here. They're actually all over her head, but the worst of it seems to be here. Looks to me like someone snuck up behind her and hit her once really good."

"Have they found a murder weapon yet?"

Grissom smiled and stood, clapping her on the shoulder. "Not yet. That why we're here."

Sara allowed a small smile, then finished pulling on her gloves. For nearly half an hour they searched the alley, checking in every place they could think of. Finally, Grissom spotted something.

"Hey Sara..." he called, his flashlight trained on a 2 by 4 on a second floor windowsill. It sat haphazardly near the edge, as if it had been tossed. The cracked window behind it backed up that theory.

Sara stepped over to him, staring up at the wood. "Nice, Grissom. Now how do we get it down?"

Grissom frowned, then tried to use a box to reach the windowsill without moving it. This failed and he stepped back, staring at the sill thoughtfully. He turned to Sara after a moment and stared. His blue gaze made her feel uncomfortable. Finally he stepped closer to her. "How much do you weigh?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not a very appropriate thing to say." _Once again, his lack of people skills is apparent. But what is he getting at?_

He held his hands off as if warding off an attack. "Ok, ok. Sorry. Let me try again. I'm guessing you weigh a good bit less that 150 pounds?"

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes. Why?"

He looked back up at the windowsill. "We don't have time to call for a ladder; it's about to rain. But we need to get that 2 by 4 down or else we could lose the evidence on it." He turned back to her. "If I could life you up, you should be able to grab it."

Sara raised an eyebrow at him. This was odd, but then again, Gilbert Grissom was known for his unorthodox procedures to get the job done. And they needed to get the job done so all of the gathered evidence could be analyzed. And the 2 by 4 could be one of the most crucial pieces.

She stepped closer to him, allowing a small smile to play across her lips. "Fine."

He nodded, and Sara noticed a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips as well. He stepped back, putting his back to the wall, just below the windowsill. He laced his fingers together and nodded to Sara.

She tentatively grasped his shoulder and put a foot on his hands. "Ready?" he asked her, his face inches from hers. "On three, I'm going to lift you up. One...two...three!"

On three, she put her other foot on his hands and he pushed her into the air. She leaned against the wall for balance and reached for the wood. Her fingers fell a few inches short.

She looked down at Grissom, who held her up at about his waist level. "Can you get me just a little higher?" she asked, knowing that she must be heavy.

He nodded and pushed her up as high as he could, unsure of just how much height she needed. It was hard for him, but comical to anyone who may have seen them, with him holding her up like a cheerleader. Sara was relieved for him that she had decided to wear flat shoes today, and relieved for herself that she had worn pants and not a skirt.

The extra height allowed her to see the 2 by 4 better as well as grab it. "You were right, Grissom. This thing has blood and scalp all over the end."

He grunted. "Good. Now please hurry and bag it." She looked down at his reddening face and nodded. She quickly put the wood into a bag. "Ok," she said as she sealed it. She pushed away from the wall a bit to signal for him to let her down, but misjudged and pushed too hard. She lost her balance and loosed herself from Grissom's tentative grip, falling towards the ground. Grissom, reacting quicker than she thought possible, lunged forward to catch her. He caught her, one hand catching her shoulders and the other catching her under the knees, but her weight caused him to crumble to the ground, Sara still in his arms.

She opened her eyes a moment later, surprised that she wasn't in a hospital room. She heard someone groan and looked down. It was Grissom, and she was sitting on top of him. She quickly fumbled to get off of the man's stomach. "Grissom!" she cried, rolling onto the ground. She leaned over him.

His eyes were clenched shut and he had a pained expression on his face. But she also noticed a small smile playing at his lips, through his grimace. She frowned when he began to laugh quietly.

"What? You think this is funny?"

He opened his eyes and grimaced again. "Not at all. That just wasn't what I planned."

She shook her head, though she was smiling, and stood up. She held out a hand to help him up. He grasped her hand, then tried to stand. He lost his balance, tumbling down to the ground again, pulling Sara down with him.

For a moment, Sara simply lay on him, laughing quietly into his chest. She lifted her head up a bit, meeting his eyes. "Are you flirting with me, Grissom?" she asked jokingly as she began to stand up again.

He gave her a small smile. "Maybe..." He then slowly stood up, leaving Sara to gawk at him. He groaned and pressed his hands to his back after he stood. He glanced up at the windowsill, then began to stiffly back to his car. "Don't forget the evidence," he reminded her from over his shoulder.

Sara stared after him for a moment. 'Hey Grissom..." He turned back to her. "Thanks."

He smiled, a rare true smile that lit up his eyes. "Sure," he replied, then turned and walked back to his Tahoe.


	2. Chapter Two

Sara stepped into the DNA lab the next day. Greg was sitting as his chair, bobbing his head to music from his headphones. Sara sighed and shook her head. _Better hope Grissom doesn't come in here,_ she thought to herself, knowing how Grissom would be irritated at Greg's distraction. She slapped his back to get his attention.

"Did you run the samples from yesterday? The ones from the victims and the 2 by 4?"

Greg glanced up at her briefly before rolling his chair over to a table. "Yeah. DNA from the blood matches your female vic, but not the male. The skin on the wood is also from your female." He shrugged. "It wasn't used to kill your John Doe."

Sara frowned. "So we have another murder weapon to find." She thanked Greg quickly, then headed towards the break room, where Catherine and Nick were discussing their case.

"Have you guys seen Grissom?" she asked them. "Turns out that 2 by 4 was only used for one of the victims. We're going to have to go back out there and find the other weapon."

"Gris went home," Catherine told her, looking up from a file. "He left about an hour ago. Said his back hurt."

Nick huffed. "Actually, we had to make him go home. Poor guy could barely walk."

Sara's face flushed, wondering if Grissom had told them _how_ his back had been hurt.

"You could probably call him. Or you could even drop by his house on your break if the information is _that_ important. You know Grissom, not being at work right now is probably killing him," Catherine added.

Sara nodded. "Sure. Riiight…" she rolled her eyes at them before turning to pay another visit to the evidence room. She spent an hour or so in there, studying the pictures from the scene, and looking over the weapon again. Finally she slammed her hands onto the table, grabbed her keys, and went out into the parking lot. She started the engine, then paused, leaning her head against the steering wheel.

She hadn't known she'd hurt Grissom bad enough to keep him from working. Now she felt really guilty. She sighed. It was the least she could do for him; let him know that they were stuck. And maybe he would know better than her what to do.

She drove in silence to his home, not even thinking about where she was going. She just seemed to know the way instinctively. She parked on the side of the road.

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Well, at least he's home, she thought, spotting his Tahoe. She grabbed the folder from the seat and made her way up to his door. She knocked gently, not wanting to frighten him. She smiled to herself. _Poor guy probably doesn't get too many visitors_.

There was no answer, so she knocked a little harder. To her surprise, the door opened a bit by itself. She stared at it for a moment, her heart leaping into her throat. It didn't seem like Grissom to leave his front door open. She reached for her gun, grateful that she had decided to wear it to work today. With the possibility of going back into the Las Vega underworld, she didn't want to be caught unarmed.

She slowly pushed the door open. "Grissom?" she called, hoping he'd simply forgotten to shut the door, as uncharacteristic as it seemed. She took her fingers away from the trigger, not wanting to accidentally shoot Grissom if he surprised her. "You here, Grissom?"

She quickly walked through the kitchen, noticing that his fridge was slightly open, and a broken glass lay on the floor. She frowned, then made her way into his living room. Everything on his tables seemed to be in place, if they had a place at all. Then her eyes fell on something lying on the floor. It seemed out of place. She quickly kneeled down to see what it was. 

It was Grissom's cell phone, flipped open, ready for use. She peered at the display, where the name 'Sara' shone on the screen. _Speed dial,_ she realized. _He was trying to call me for something._ She closed her eyes for a second, then let them fall on the door to his bedroom. It was closed, but a red stain running down the side of it did nothing to soothe her fear.

Almost tiptoeing, she carefully pushed open the door, years of CSI experience telling her not to disturb the blood. She pushed it all the way open, glancing around the room. 

Grissom's bed was messed up, but it did nothing to indicate a struggle. But then she glanced up at the far wall. A large blood splatter stood out on the white walls, chilling her blood. Her eyes traveled down the smear to where it disappeared behind the bed. A pair of shoes could be seen just beyond the foot of the bed, but it wasn't the shoes that caught her attention. It was the feet and legs attached to them.

"Grissom!" she screamed, dropping her gun as she rushed to him. He was crumpled on the floor, having fallen over after sliding down the wall. His eyes were closed, and a pool of blood had gathered beneath him.

Sara could have swore her heart stopped beating. She reached out a hand to touch his face, but stopped, mere inches from him. _He's probably already getting cold…_she thought grimly. She didn't want to feel him like that, she wanted to remember his warmth. She clenched her eyes shut, then closed the last few inches, running her fingers down his cheek.

And froze. He was warm. Very warm. She opened her eyes, putting her other hand to his face. "Grissom?" she asked, desperate to find a sign of life. She moved a hand down to his neck, feeling for a pulse. She found one, weak, but present.

"Grissom! Grissom, can you hear me?" she asked, though she didn't really expect an answer. Her eyes traveled down his face to his blood-soaked shirt. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, hesitating only a second before unbuttoning the shirt and pushing it aside to get a better view. 

She couldn't see anything through the blood, so she raced to the bathroom, grabbed a few towels, then kneeled by him again. She wiped away some of the blood with one towel, searching for the source of it all. She found what looked like a bullet hole in his abdomen, just below his ribs. She grimaced and pressed the towel to the wound, carefully leaning him forward to search his back for an exit wound. There was none.

She then laid him onto his back, knowing that she had to stop the bleeding or else she would lose him. She cradled his head in her lap, fighting back the tears that threatened to overcome her. _Come on Sidle_, she told herself. _If ever you needed to stay calm and collected, _this_ is the time. If you panic, Grissom will die. You will lose him forever._

Still holding his head, she pulled out her own phone and dialed 911. She spoke to the operator, sounding almost monotonous as she reported Grissom's condition. If only the woman knew how badly she just wanted to scream her anguish to the heavens and all who would listen…

She refused to stay on the line with the woman, not wanting to hear her say that everything was alright when it quite obviously wasn't. She gave them Grissom's address, then pressed the button.

She clenched her eyes shut, then pressed her forehead to Grissom's. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

To her surprise, he stirred and groaned. His eyes slowly opened, clouded with pain. "Sara...?" he managed to say, almost inaudibly.

She smiled, more for his sake than actual happiness. "Yeah, I'm here Grissom. Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

A small smile flickered across his lips as his eyes closed again, dropping him once again in the void of unconsciousness. Sara wiped a stray tear from her eye, then held him closer to her, all the while keeping a firm hold on the towel that was fighting to stop the bleeding. "I'm sorry," she repeated.


	3. Chapter Three

**Ok, here's the next part.  Hope you enjoy. **

Nick dodged a young woman as he rushed to the break room, a piece of paper clutched in his hand.  He skidded to a stop in front of the table Catherine and Warrick were sitting at.  They looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

"Where's the fire, Nicky?" Catherine joked.

Nick gasped for breath as he began to explain.  "Gris…at his house…Sara found him…"

Catherine's heart dropped as she digested what Nick was trying to say.  She stood up from her chair and grasped his hand.  "Nick, what's happened to Gil?"

"Shot…Sara found him…a while ago…"  He took a deep breath, then looked up at Catherine.

She swallowed a lump in her throat.  "Is he…"  She couldn't bring herself to say 'dead', not pertaining to Gil.  It seemed to final, too absolute for Gil, for one of their own.

Nick shook his head.  "I don't know.  When Sara found him, he was alive, but suffered severe blood loss.  I don't know if he made it to the hospital or not."

Warrick stood up from his chair, and Catherine snatched up her keys.  "Which hospital?" she asked.

"Memorial, and I'm going with you," Nick said, straightening up.

Catherine stopped a moment and studied him.  Surely the whole CSI team couldn't just up and leave, the sheriff would have a fit.  She shook her head.  This was a special circumstance, and with Gil having the day off, Catherine was now in charge.  She nodded.  "Let's go."  If they got in trouble, she would take the heat for it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Catherine gunned the car all the way to the hospital.  It was only by sheer luck that she wasn't pulled over and arrested.  She pulled into a parking space, slammed on the brake, then turned the car off in a matter of seconds.  She hopped out of the car and rushed inside, approaching the reception desk.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine.  Emergency, he was shot," Catherine said, adopting the voice that told people not to mess with her.

The woman blinked and turned to her computer.  "Name?"

"Gil Grissom.  Is he still alive?"  Part of Catherine feared the answer, the other part needed desperately to know.

The woman tapped on the computer for a moment.  "Gil Grissom.  5'11", age 47.  Single gunshot wound to the abdomen."  Catherine stiffened uncomfortably.  She was reading the information the same way Grissom or Doc Robbins would introduce them to a victim.  "He got out of emergency surgery an hour and a half ago.  Is listed as critical."

Nick, Catherine, and Warrick all breathed a small sigh of relief.  Gris was alive, for now.  "Could we see him?" Warrick asked.

The woman raised an eyebrow.  "He can only have two visitors at a time, due to his fragile state.  But, if you could convince the woman with him now to take turns, perhaps you could see him."

"Which room?" Catherine demanded.

"613."

"Thank you!" Catherine said, then turned and rushed down the hall, Nick and Warrick in tow.  She reached the door, then froze.  For a moment, she could only stare at the number on the door, fearful of what she would find inside.  Nick put a hand on her shoulder, then went to sit in a chair, nervously leaning his chin on his hands.  Warrick squeezed her shoulder, then did the same.  She stared at them for a moment, then nodded and pushed the door open.

The familiar beep of a heart monitor was the first thing to greet her.  It was slow, but steady.  She turned her eyes to the bed, then clenched them shut.  Grissom lay covered to his shoulders on it, oxygen tubes and IVs running from his body.  His face was pale, and he suddenly seemed so old and weak.

Sara sat in a chair by his bed, her head bowed.  Catherine also noticed that she held one of Grissom's hands in hers.  She looked up as Catherine entered, her face streaked with tears.

"I went to his house to bring him those reports like you said.  I found him in his bedroom like this," Sara said softly, her voice cracking.  She bowed her head again, squeezing Grissom's hand.

Catherine stepped up to the other side of the bed, carefully taking his other hand.  She smiled after a moment.  "Gil would have a heart attack if he woke up now.  Two women holding his hands, he wouldn't know what to do."

Sara smiled, lifting a little weight from Catherine's heart.  At least Sara hadn't drawn too far into herself after what she'd found.    Sara stared at Grissom's face for a moment.  "He looks so peaceful."

"Yeah, but wait until he's discharged and back at work.  He'll be so upset over how much work he missed."  She looked up at Sara again, turning serious again when he attempt to lighten the grave situation failed.  "What did the doctors say?"

Sara shrugged.  "They say it's all up to Grissom now.  He lost a lot of blood.  They also said…"she looked down at Grissom, "if I hadn't gotten there when I did…he'd have died."

"Catherine smiled gently, reaching over Grissom to squeeze Sara's hand.  "So he owes you one."

They both turned as the door suddenly opened again.  It was a police officer.  His eyes went from Catherine to Sara to Grissom.  "Which one of you is Sara Sidle?" he asked.

Sara smirked, resisting the urge to point to Grissom.  "I am," she said, wishing nothing more than for him to go away.

"May I have a few minutes?  I need to ask you a few questions."

Sara sighed and carefully laid Grissom's hand back on the blanket.  She went to the door, then turned back to Catherine.  "I'll let Nick and Warrick fight over who comes in next," she said, then followed the officer into the hall.

Nick and Warrick jumped to their feet at the sight of her.  Nick approached her, wrapping her in a sympathetic hug.  She was grateful for it, but found herself wishing it was Grissom.  He pulled away and nodded to Warrick, indicating that he would stay with Sara.  Warrick nodded in return, patted Sara's back gently, then disappeared into the room.

The police officer flipped open a small notebook.  "Ms. Sidle, you were the one who found Mr. Grissom, correct?"

"Yeah," she answered irritably.  She'd already told a cop what had happened.

"What were you doing at his house at midnight?"

"Dropping off a lab report.  Catherine Willows had said he'd gone home because his back hurt, but I needed to know where he wanted to go with the case."

"And he was already injured when you arrived?"

"Yeah."

"Were you aware that a gun issued to you was found at the crime scene?"

"Yeah, it's my work gun.  You can check it if you want to.  You'll find that it hasn't been fired or cleaned in a while.  You want to check my shirt for gunpowder residue?" she asked, motioning to her blood-stained shirt.  "Check it!  _I didn't do this to Grissom_."

The police officer held up a hand.  "Calm down please, Ms Sidle.  You know how this goes.  Just have to cover all the bases."

Nick put a hand on Sara's shoulder.  "We understand that officer," he said, his voice betraying his own fear and anguish.  "But could you wait until the shock has worn off?  Or until we know it Gris is going to pull through or not?"

The officer nodded and closed his notebook.  "I understand."  He handed a card to Nick, then turned and walked down the hall.  Sara stared after him for a moment, then turned back to Nick.  He wrapped his arms around her again, unsure of what to do for his friend.

**Wanted:  Good beta readers.  I've never had one, but I think that it couldn't hurt.**


	4. Chapter Four

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Yippee, another chapter for you! Enjoy!

"The police keep asking questions, wondering why I was at your house, if there's anything going on between us, or if anyone has a reason to want to do you in. I told them a lot of people may want you dead. You're the top CSI. You stick people in jail! Then they asked if any spurned lovers may have come after you. I laughed at them. They obviously don't know you very well."

Sara smiled as she spoke, running a hand through Grissom's hair. It had been five days since he'd been attacked, but Grissom had yet to wake up. Sara had been given two weeks off to recuperate from what she had seen, with the option to use some vacation time if she needed more. She had spent most of, if not all, her time sitting by Grissom's side, praying for him to wake up.

She moved her hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek. "Come on, Gil," she said, using his given name for once. "You need to wake up. We all miss you." He still didn't move, and only the constant beeping on the heart monitor and the gently rise and fall of his chest showed life.

She sighed, letting her hand fall from his face. She laid her head down by his in defeat. He wasn't going to wake up. He would just fade away one night, leaving her alone with a gaping hole in her heart.

She loved him. She couldn't explain why or when, but she knew. And now he would never know. She's waited too late, even though she had asked him out. He hadn't know just how deep her feelings for him ran. But had he even felt the same? She had no idea. At times he acted as if her may be interested, then he would revert back to his 'supervisor' role and ignore her.

"Why do I try?" she said to herself. "He could never love me…"

"How do you know that?" a raspy voice whispered, startling her. She flung her head up from its resting place, staring into Grissom's blue eyes. Her face broke out into a huge smile. "Gris!" she exclaimed, awkwardly hugging him as best she could.

He seemed startled at first, but patted her back weakly after a moment. "Yeah…"

She released him, but kept her face close. She put her hands on either side of his face. "We were all so worried," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She didn't even realize she was crying until he reached up and wiped a tear from her face.

"I know. I heard, some of it, that is."

Sara frowned. "What do you mean?"

Grissom swallowed with some difficulty, then turned away. At first, Sara thought he was refusing to talk to her, until she saw him painfully reaching for the water pitcher that sat on the table on the other side of his bed. She quickly stood and walked around, gently pushing his arm down. She poured him a glass, then held it for him as he drank.

He raised his eyebrows at her in a typical Grissom manner. "You're being awfully nice to me," he commented, his voice a little stronger.

"Well," Sara said as she went back to her chair. "You were just shot and lying here near death."

"That's it?" Grissom asked, a tiny smile flitting across his lips. He glanced down in surprise as she grasped his hand.

"You were saying..?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment. "Oh yeah. Well, it was like being stuck between being awake and being asleep. I remember seeing you, then nothing. But it seemed as though I could hear everything that was being said at times." He stopped, staring at the wall, then he looked up at her. "I never knew," he whispered, squeezing her hand weakly.

Sara smiled and covered his hand with her own. "You must be blind."

"Probably," he said, his eyes dropping already. His few minutes of consiousness had drained his limited energy. He opened them again. "How long?"

"Forever…"

"Wow. That's a long time…" he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting…"

Sara stood and put her hands on his face again, leaning close. His eyes opened a little. "You're forgiven. Now, don't worry. I'll be here when you wake up." She lowered her face to his and gently pressed her lips to his. After a moment she pulled away, and smiled at him. His eyes seemed alight, despite his fatigue. He was still smiling when he dropped off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sara was returning to Gris' room from a quick lunch, an extra sandwich in hand, when she saw Catherine standing out in the hall in front of his room. Sara smiled.

"Hey."

Catherine smiled back. "Hey. How's he been doing?"

"He's good. Doctors say he's making a great recovery. After only two weeks he's been able to sit up. For the amount of damage the bullet did, that's great progress. It'll still be slow for him, but the doctors say that they've never seen anyone so determined to get better." She moved toward the door, but Catherine didn't move to let her pass. Sara looked up at her quizzically.

"You can't go in. The police are in there, asking him questions." Catherine sighed. "He says it was a woman he saw that night, but he can't remember a face." She looked up at Sara. "They think it was you, and Ecklie is doing nothing to quell that theory."

Sara's jaw dropped. "Me? Why? I have no reason to want Grissom dead!"

"I know you don't, but the police see to think so. And Ecklie got the case, and he's under pressure to make it go away."

"Why do they think it's me?"

"Well, he saw a woman, you were the only one nearby, and someone claims that you and he had a little spat."

"That's bullshit! If I had shot him, why would I stay with him in the hospital?" She shook her head vigorously. "And I haven't had a little _spat_ with him either! Who the hell said that?"

"They won't tell us. But you could be staying with Grissom because of guilt. Look, we all know you didn't do it, and evidence will prove that."

"They should already have collected evidence from his house. That should already have counted me out."

Catherine shook her head. "You know Ecklie. He's the first to point out that you know a lot about forensics, so it would be easy for you to get rid of evidence."

Sara shook her head. "That rat-faced son of a-"

Catherine put a hand on her arm. "Sara, you have nothing to worry about. You didn't do it, so they should have no way to pin it on you." She gave her shoulder a squeeze just as a pair of police stepped out of Grissom's room. They nodded to Catherine, and studied Sara curiously. During the first few days of the ordeal, she'd been a mess, refusing to leave the hospital for anything. Only when Grissom had threatened to fire her if she didn't go home and rest did she leave. She returned to the hospital, in much better condition and spirits. She looked very different from the disheveled person the police had seen before, and it was almost as if they were trying to recognize her.

Finally one stepped forward. "Ms. Sidle?" he asked, his voice stern. "She nodded. "I need to to come with me."

Sara frowned, but nodded. She hand Grissom's sandwich to Catherine. "Go ahead and give that to him for me. Tuna fish on wheat bread; shouldn't hurt his stomach. At least that's what the nurse told me. "She gave Catherine a small smile. "He hates the food they give him."

Catherine nodded, and took the plastic-wrapped sandwich. "I'll make sure he gets it," she said softly.

Sara nodded, then allowed the police to walk her down the hall, looking back only once. Catherine watching until she was out of view, then turned and went into Grissom's room. 

Gris looked up at her when she entered and smiled. Then he went back to buttoning his shirt. "Hey."

"Hey. They're letting you change into your own clothes? Why?"

He shrugged, still fumbling with the buttons. "They want me to go look at a line-up. See if I can recognize the attacker," he said, his face clearly showing that he thought it was wasted time.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged again. "Better than I was, obviously. Still can't walk, but can do a little more than just lie around." Catherine watching him fumble with the buttons a few seconds longer. She shook her head and stepped up to him, buttoning the shirt. He smiled weakly. "It's all the medication," he explained, holding up his hand so Catherine could see how badly it shook.

"Whoa," Catherine said sympathetically. "Strong stuff." She finished his shirt, then patted his chest playfully. "Oh," she said, tossing the sandwich at him. "Sara got that for you. Said you hated the food they gave you."

Grissom smirked. "Have you tried hospital food? Damn soft diet…"

"Gil, I gave birth to a child. Believe me, I've had my fair share of hospital gunk."

He smiled, then suddenly grasped her arm when she went to get up. "I…uh…I was wondering if you could help me out."

"Sure, Gil. What is it?"

He looked down, his face reddening slightly. "I'm supposed to pay a visit to the station, answer some more question there. And I can't exactly go in the hospital robe…" Catherine raised an eyebrow. He grinned and looked pointedly at a dark pair of pants draped over a chair.

Catherine stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to help you put your _pants_ on?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I can't do it alone. I can't even stand. Please, Catherine. Better you than one of the nurses. I think one of them has a crush on me or something, and I'm pretty sure she'd volunteer. But that could be…traumatizing."

Catherine laughed. "Buddy, I'm not putting your pants on for you. That's just weird. I'm sure Sara would volunteer, but as she's not here right now, I think you'll have to settle for one of the nurses."

Grissom groaned. "_That_ is the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me."

Catherine shook her head. "Sorry, Gil. I don't I could help you much anyway. There's no way I could pick you up, and you can't pick yourself up. So it would all be in vain, and we'd have to ask a nurse for help anyway." She smirked and headed towards the door.

"You're such an ass," Grissom grumbled.

She smiled again and cocked her head to the side. "I know. I try. Well, Mr. Grissom, let me go find you a nurse who knows how to put pants on a crippled man."

Grissom's groan followed her into the hall.

****


	5. Chapter Five

**__**

See, I didn't forget about this one. Sorry if the wait was a bit long for you! Hope you enjoy!

Some time later, a fully dressed Grissom was being pushed through the police station in a wheelchair. He'd fought the chair tooth and nail, but in the end it was conceded that the only way for him to get around would be to accept being helpless. And being helpless was a feeling that Gil Grissom hated more than anything. But he was glad to be out of the hospital, away from its sterile walls to more familiar territory.

The officer pushed him into the room where victims stood to view the line-up, where a few other officers proceeded to tell him how things worked, obviously not recognizing him for who he was. Grissom, though thoroughly annoyed, chose not to announce to them that he was only the top CSI of the whole nightshift. They handed him a piece of paper and a pen, explaining that all he had to do was to write down a number.

Grissom sighed and shook his head. This whole thing was going to be a waste of time. He didn't remember what the woman looked like. All he knew was a voice, and he doubted the women in the line-up could be forced to speak for him. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his memory.

__

He stepped inside his house, tossing the keys onto the counter before rummaging through the refrigerator in search of something edible. His back flamed with pain when he straightened up, and he leaned against the fridge for support. He shook his head, then reached into a drawer, grabbing some aspirin and taking it without water.

He had been eyeing his couch, trying to decide if he should curl up there or go into his bedroom. He decided that the couch was closer, but his bed would allow him to stretch out. He went to his CD player, trying to select something relaxing. He was still trying to decide what to put in when his skull erupted in white hot pain, sending him to the floor in a heap. Everything went black for a moment, but he was awakened by someone lifting his head from the floor by his hair.

"You'll pay for what you did…" a soft woman's voice told him quietly, filled with hatred.

"What did-" he began, winching as her grip on his hair grew tighter.

"Shut up!" she screamed, roughly kicking him in the kidneys and effectively silencing him. He then felt the barrel of a gun being pressed against the back of his neck. "Move, and you're dead." He heard a shifting in clothing as she kneeled down next to him. "And I really hope you do try something," she whispered. Then she left him, though he could still hear her footsteps as she moved about his house.

He slowly reaching into his shirt pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He shakily pressed speed dial 2, Sara. Why he had instinctively gone for her, he didn't know. He had just done it.

But he'd never gotten the phone to dial the number. Before he could press another button, the woman spotted him and kicked the phone from his hand. He cried out in pain and surprise as her shoes cut a deep gash in his hand and instinctively rolled onto his back to defend himself. He managed to catch sight of a brunette woman before everything went black again.

Grissom opened his eyes slowly. The following events were fuzzy. He remembered waking up in his bedroom and trying to stand up, using his wall for support as he waited for his head to clear. He'd heard a shout of alarm, then excruciating pain had erupted in his back and stomach.

He shook his head, his hand finding the bandage still covering his abdomen. _They shot me from behind…_he thought to himself. _They? There were two!_ His eyes widened as realization set in. _The shout was from a man's voice…_

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and looked up into the face of Conrad Ecklie. He frowned. "Ecklie?"

Ecklie smiled. "Hello to you too, Grissom. Do you want to pay attention to the lineup, or do you not care if we find who did this to you?"

Grissom glared, but then turned to the two-way mirror that separated him from the women. When their number was called, the women in the line-up would step forward, turn to the side, then step back. He watched the first five women calmly, not recognizing a thing about them. Then the sixth woman stepped forward, her body language displaying her anger. Gil's jaw dropped. "Sara?"

One of the officers stepped forward almost eagerly. "Do you recognize her, sir?"

He turned to the cop. "Yeah! I'm her boss! What the hell is she doing in there?" he asked, struggling to turn the wheelchair towards Ecklie. "She can't be a suspect!"

"But she can, Mr. Grissom," Ecklie said quietly, mockingly.

Grissom frowned, the muscles in his jaw taunt. He then turned back to the mirror, where Sara was turning to the side. Her jaw was also set, and Grissom could see the anger and hurt in her eyes. Grissom shook his head, but kept silent. 

All of the other women went, but Grissom still hadn't written down a name. Most of his time was spent staring at the shadow that was Sara. The last woman stepped back, then they were allowed to file out. Grissom watched Sara's figure until she disappeared from view, then turned to face Ecklie.

"I told you, I didn't get a good look at her face. If I could hear her, that would be something else."

Ecklie shrugged. "You seemed to have a good reaction to Ms. Sidle."

"Will you give it a rest, Ecklie?" Grissom shouted, wishing so much that he wasn't stuck in a wheelchair so he would hit the man. "I had a reaction to her because I work with her and know there's no way in hell she would have done it! Look at the evidence, Ecklie. Like you're supposed to! You'll see that there's no way it could have been Sara. Check the lab, they'll tell you that Sara was here when I was attacked."

With that, Grissom gave Ecklie one last go-to-hell look, then allowed the nurse who had accompanied him to push him out. They went past the DNA lab, where Greg was waiting for some results to finish. He spotted Grissom's familiar features and practically ran out of the lab, skidding to a stop in the hall. "Grissom!" he called.

The nurse stopped, allowing Grissom to turn. He gave Greg a small smile. "Hello Greg."

Greg stepped closer. "Great to see you, Gris. Everyone's been talking about you, you know. I mean, not in a bad way." He shook his head. "It really scared everyone. Things were all messed up around here until they said you were going to live."

Grissom shrugged, then glanced around. "What are you still doing here, Greg? Graveyard shift ended four hours ago."

Greg motioned to the lab. "I uh…got a little backlogged. So I was going to stay over and get it done."

"Better get it done," Grissom said, with a characteristic tilt of his head, signaling that the conversation was over.

Greg grinned. It was good to know that things hadn't changed _that_ much.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grissom sighed as he looked over the photographs, tossing on down on the blanket. After his encounter with Greg, Grissom had paid a visit to his office. He'd found it cleaned and straightened up for him. Someone had even remembered to feed his tarantulas for him. The little gestures had put a smile on his face, and he made a mental note to treat all of graveyard to lunch when he was released.

He'd managed to get copies of lab reports and crime scene photos from his own case, though who he got them from would forever remain a secret. It was an odd thing for him. Looking at pictures of his own house, his bedroom wall and floor covered in blood. _His_ blood. A small chill ran down his spine.

He glanced at a lab report. It showed that the blood from the smear on his bedroom door wasn't an attacker's blood. It was his own, having gotten there when the attacker wiped his/her bloody hands. Day shift had managed to get a few prints off of the blood on the door and his doorknob, but AFIS had spit them out as unknown. None of his neighbors had seen anyone odd that night, and no one had heard the gunshot. That made it impossible for the CSI's to get any type of suspect, or even a time of attack.

He sighed again, slowly pulling the glasses from his face and setting them down beside him. He rubbed his temples gently, feeling a migraine coming on. He glanced up at the door, wondering if he would be able to get a nurse to get him some medicine. He knew aspirin wouldn't do a thing, but was unsure if he would be able to get his prescription.

He was still thinking when the phone next to his bed rang. He groaned and reached over to pick it up, feeling the tension as the bandages on his abdomen stretched. He put the phone to his ear. "Yeah, Grissom."

"Hey," Sara's voice said over the phone. Grissom smiled to himself; just hearing her voice did wonders for his spirits. "How you doing?"

The smiled slowly wilted from Gris' face. Sara sounded tired, reserved tense. "Something wrong?"

He heard her sigh over the phone, and she was silent for a moment. "I'm fine. You?"

"I'm doing better…" he said, still unsure of what was bothering her. Then it hit him; the line-up. Perhaps she thought he was behind putting her in it. "Sara, is this about the line-up today?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for the way he said it. He'd said it in the same way he had the 'hamburger' question.

She was silent for another long moment. "Maybe a little. It's just kind of hard, you know? Being accused of something I didn't do. Now I now how innocent suspects feel…"

He rubbed his temples again. "Sara, I didn't have anything to do with that. I didn't know you were in it until you stepped forward."

"I know, Grissom. I never thought you had a part in it."

Grissom breathed a sigh of relief. "Good to know." He glanced at the clock idly. "You coming to see me today? Be a nice break from all of the manly nurses," he joked.

"I don't think I should see you, Grissom. I mean, I am probably the main suspect in your attack. I'm sure it doesn't look right to Ecklie that I spend so much time with you."

Grissom was stunned silent by her words. "Sara…I…" He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss for words. "Sara, please. Don't do this to me. You don't understand how much-" he froze, unsure if he wanted to go further.

"How much what, Grissom?" Sara asked, just a bit of need in her voice.

He closed his eyes. "You don't understand how much I need you here with me now." There, he had said it. He had told her one of the secrets he held deepest in his heart. He held his breath, waiting for her reply.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally Sara spoke. "I'll be right there."


	6. Chapter Six

****

A/N: Alright, thanks to all those who have reviewed so far. Glad to know that you're liking the story. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sara practically ran through the halls of the hospital. She had heard the desperation in Grissom's voice, and knew that he must really be feeling down if he were willing to admit that he needed her.

Her thoughts had been a jumbled mess since she'd spoken to him. _You don't understand how much I need you here with me now_. These words echoed in her mind as she drove, and still held fast when she stepped into the hospital. She was trying to figure out just what he'd meant by those words. Did it mean that he needed _her_, or that he just wanted someone present? She could only hope…

She made her way to his room, knowing the way by heart. She pushed open the door slowly, not wanting to startle him. He lay on his bed, papers strewn about him on the blanket. His eyes were closed, and it seemed as though he had fallen asleep.

"Grissom?" Sara said softly, not wanting to rob him of the sleep he so desperately needed. He didn't move. She moved to the other side of the bed, gently reaching down to pull his glasses from his face. But as soon as her hands touched the glasses, his eyes opened.

"Sara?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well who it was.

She smiled, taking her hands away and sinking down into a chair. "Yeah, Gris. I told you I'd be here."

He smiled, reaching a hand out to grasp hers. "I'm glad." For a moment, he simply stared at their entwined hands. Then he sighed. "Sad that it had to come to this…"

Sara tilted her head to the side, confused at his comment. "What do you mean?"

He gave her a sad smile. "Sad that it had to take something like this to happen for…something to happen." He squinted at her, unsure if he had made any sense at all. He sighed, then shifted where he lay, trying to get a better fix on her face. "Sometimes in life, we're faced with incidents that reveal our mortality to us; when we find out just how fragile our hold on life really is.

"And…you really do see your life flash before you eyes. And you see your fears, and what could have been, if not for those fears." He looked up at her, capturing her gaze. "And you begin to regret not doing some things." He squeezed her hand. "And I…I regret not doing many things. Most regarding you."

Sara gave him a smile. "Dinner?"

He smirked. "Much more than that." He took a deep breath. "I regret…watching you from a distance, yet unable to say what I was thinking to your face. I regret pushing you away when my heart said go forward. I regret making you think I didn't care. And I regret ever hurting you," he finished softly, now unable to look into her eyes, fearing what he may see.

She stared at him for a moment, realizing that he had laid his heart out in front of her, something he deeply feared. The rest was up to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying to figure out what to say. She couldn't say that he never had hurt her; that was a lie and he was certain to catch it. "Grissom," she said softly, reaching out a hand to tilt his face toward her, forcing him to look into her eyes. "That's behind us now. Forget it."

He gave her a sad smile. "Nothing is forgotten, only left behind."

"Shakespeare?" she asked with a grin.

"No. Robbie Robertson."

She continued to smile, running a hand through his hair gently. "Well, then let's leave it behind us. You get a fresh start."

Grissom shook his head and started to sit up, wincing as he stretched the muscles in his abdomen. He leaned toward Sara, putting a hand on the side of her face. "We can't do that. There's too much at risk. We could both lose our jobs." He gently ran his finger over her cheek, his face contorting as if in pain. "And I don't want to hurt you again." _Because if I do, there would be no way I could forgive myself._

Sara lifted her hand, covering Grissom's. "Will you regret this, too? Not giving us a real chance?" She squeezed his hand. "I know I would."

He swallowed. "I would. Very much so." He glanced at the door briefly, more to gather his thoughts than to see if someone was there. "Could we? Chance it, I mean."

Sara smiled. "I think being discreet has already gone out of the window, Grissom. In case you haven't noticed, I've been here every day since you were shot, even when you weren't conscious. I'm sure Mobley has already noticed that something was up."

He gave her a tilted-head grin, one she had missed so much. "Sara, I think there is a difference between dating someone and sitting by their deathbed."

"This isn't your deathbed, Grissom. Besides, I don't think it would matter to them that much. I mean, you're responsible for the lab being number two in the country, almost single-handedly. They can't afford to fire you over something like this."

"They could always fire you or transfer you."

"And I doubt they would try that." She scooted a little closer to him, putting her face near his. "They don't want to do anything that would upset you. Besides, we work too well together. They don't want to risk…throwing you off-balance."

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but froze, closing his mouth with a smile. "I can see that there's no point in arguing with you. You seem to have an answer for everything."

Sara returned his smile. "I've had a while to think about it."

"Obviously."

She laughed. "Yeah. Four years at least." Just then, Sara's beeper went off, and she snatched it from her belt. She peered at the display, then groaned. "Ecklie. Says he wants to ask me some questions."

She felt Grissom's hand grasp her, and she turned back to him, seeing a bit of fear in his eyes. "You have the truth, Sara. That's all you need."

She nodded. "Yeah, evidence."

"The evidence will show that you didn't do this." He stared at her for a moment, then his eyes widened, and his grip on her hand tightened. "Sara! I forgot. I've remembered something from that night."

Sara's own eyes widened slightly. "What?"

"There were two of them. Two people in my house. One was a woman, the other was a man."

"Gris, are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah, right before they shot me in the back." He frowned, his own words sinking in. He looked up at Sara with a confused expression, and she gave him one in return.

"Gris, you weren't shot in the back. There was no exit wound _or_ entrance wound. They shot you here," she said, placing a hand gently on his abdomen, aware that it was still very painful. Then she smiled. "Even you, the great Gil Grissom, are not a perfect eyewitness."

He shook his head. "I suppose not" he said, idly placing his own hand on the bandages.

She put a hand on the side of his face. "I'll tell them what you said. Though, coming from me, it might sound like a tale. To Ecklie, at least." She kissed his cheek quickly, then went to the door, startling a nurse who had been reaching for the handle.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sara said, stepping aside to allow the woman to enter.

"It's alright," she said quietly, quickly slipping past Sara. Sara nodded to her, then headed out of the door, intent on giving Ecklie a piece of her mind when she got back to HQ. She rushed as fast as she could through the hospital without running, then burst out into a run when she reached the garage. She reached her Tahoe, then felt around in her pockets for the keys.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, her search being futile. She double-checked every pocket, then sighed. She had to have left them up in Grissom's room. She glanced at her watch, knowing Ecklie would page her again soon, getting more and more irritated by the minute. And the more irritated Ecklie was, the more irritating he would be. And it took everything she had sometimes to deal with Ecklie in a good mood, much less when he was accusing her of attempted murder.

Sighing, Sara turned and made her way back up to the hospital. She paced back and forth in the elevator as it rose to Grissom's floor, making the young couple sharing it with her very nervous. They practically sprinted off when their floor came.

Finally, the elevator stopped at Grissom's floor. Sara stepped out, noticing that there was a sudden buzz of urgency that had not been there moments before. Doctors and nurses were shouting at one another, asking for different sorts of medical devices.

It wasn't until she saw a young doctor carrying a kit rush into Grissom's room did her heart begin to sink. She picked up her pace, running to the door. Doctors and nurses were buzzing around Grissom, desperation masking their faces.

Sara's hands flew to her mouth, and she tried to rush to Grissom's side, unable to comprehend what was happening. The young doctor stepped forward, grasping her arms to stop her.

"Grissom!" she shouted. "Grissom! What's happened?" she shouted at the doctors, struggling to break free of the young man's hold. She caught a glimpse of Grissom's face through the wall of bodies. They had reinstated an oxygen tube, but his face was still an ashen grey, frightening Sara to her very core. It was almost as if she had found him again, bleeding out on his floor…

"Ma'am," he was saying, though she barely heard him. "You can't go in there. They're working on it. You'll have to calm down. Ma'am-" 

Everything went black.

****

A/N: Whew! Ok, everybody take a deep breath, and press the little 'Go' button.


	7. Chapter Seven

A myriad of sounds invaded the dark silence. Footsteps, voices, electronic devices. They started out as an incoherent concoction, but slowly defined themselves. The soft rubber soles of a nurse padding across the hard floor, the steady beep of a heart monitor, the swift typing on a keyboard, a doctor assuring a man that he would live to see his new son.

Sara slowly opened her eyes, the bright lights blinding her at first. But the room around her slowly came into focus, and she took a moment to take in her new surroundings.

She was in a hospital room. It wasn't Grissom's, but it was very similar. The same bland, white walls, the same antiseptic smell, and the same harsh lights. She sat up slowly, well aware of the dull throbbing pain in her head. She looked down at her feet, seeing that while they had put her in a room, they hadn't bothered to put her under the blanket or remove her clothing in exchange for a hospital gown. For this, she was glad. Obviously, they didn't figure that she would be there for long, and that her fainting spell had been due to stress or something of that nature.

Putting her hands to her temples, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. Just then, a young man in scrubs walked in, studying a chart. He looked up and, seeing that she was awake, smiled at her. "Feeling a little better, Ms. Sidle?" he asked.

Sara nodded slightly, studying the hall behind him. For a moment however, she couldn't comprehend why it was that she was here. Why had she fainted? All she remembered was darkness…

The man pulled up a chair next to Sara's bed, pulling out a stethoscope. "I just have to check your blood pressure and heart rate, okay? Just to make sure that everything's ticking the way it should." He smiled, putting the end of the stethoscope into his hands and blowing hot air onto it. "These things are always freezing," he explained, before placing it below Sara's collarbone, listening intently.

Evidently, he liked what he heard, and nodded. "Good. Heart rate is pretty much back to normal." He checked her blood pressure as well, pleased with those results. He stood up from his chair, scribbling some notes on the clipboard. "Well, aside from being a little pale and shaky, I'd say you were in perfect health."

Sara nodded, her mind a whirl as she tried to remember what had happened. Everything was so fuzzy…She remembered talking to Grissom, going to her car, coming back…Her eyes widened as the memories flooded back. The doctor's rushing into Grissom's room, the wail of the monitors, Grissom's deathly pale face…

She grasped the man's hand as he began to step out. "Grissom!" she blurted out. "What about Grissom? Is he alright?"

He frowned. "Who?"

"Gil Grissom," she said slowly.

"Oh! Yes, Mr. Grissom." He glanced down at her chart, as if Grissom's vital information would just magically appear on it. "I'm not sure; I wasn't involved with him. But I can check for you if you like."

Sara shook her head, standing up on shaky legs. "Forget that." She began to walk towards the door, pushing past the man. "I want to see him. I _need_ to see if he's okay!"

The man stood still for a moment, staring at the clipboard with a blank expression. Finally he sighed. "Let me get you to talk to one of the nurses. They'll know your situation better than I." He gave Sara one last, worried, glance before practically running into the hall, shouting for someone named 'Susan'.

Sara, her head suddenly spinning, managed to find a chair to sink into. She buried her face in her hands, and was still in that position when a short woman in scrubs stepped inside.

"Ms. Sidle? Jerry said that you were wanting some information on a patient."

Sara nodded, standing up from the chair. "Yes. Gil Grissom. What's happened to him? It he alright?"

The woman held out her hands, nodding gently. "Calm down, Ms. Sidle. Mr. Grissom is alive, and resting peacefully."

"What happened to him?" Sara asked, the relief evident in her voice. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Grissom was alive, and that, for the moment, was all that mattered in the world.

"The doctors found a chemical in Mr. Grissom's IV bag. We've sent it to your crime lab for identification, but it seems to be some type of heavy sedative. Basically, Mr. Grissom's body just began to shut down. Luckily, some of the monitors went off before too much damage was done and doctors were able to repair the damage and remove the chemical."

"Can I see him?" Sara asked in a small voice. She _needed_ to see him. To rid herself of the last image she had of him, deathly pale surrounded by doctors.

The woman hesitated, knowing that Sara was a suspect in what had happened to the man. But when she saw the pain in Sara's eyes, her heart melted, and she silently formed the opinion that this woman could never had done what she was suspected of doing.

"Yes. He's been moved to ICU for observation, so it'll have to be brief. Follow me," the woman commanded, stepping out of the room and heading down the hall.

The nurse led Sara through the hospital to a more hectic area. Doctors rushed back and forth, patients shouted in pain or anger, while heart-wrenching sobs could be heard now and then.

Grissom had been placed into a room with four other beds, two of which were full. One was an old man, who looked ready to let go any second, while the other was occupied by a heavily bandaged teen-age girl.

Sara pulled up a chair next to Grissom's bed, hating the fact that he was once again connected to a jumbled of cords and tubes. She also was well aware of the fact that the nurse stayed in the doorway, watching her carefully. No doubt the hospital employees had been told to keep an eye on her.

She shook her head, putting a gentle hand on his face. "Grissom," she whispered, letting her fingers run down his face. He was still pale, and his breathing was shallow, but steady. The heart monitor also beat steadily, with the beep becoming stronger as the minutes went by. She moved her hand from his face to grasp his hand, noting that it was cold.

She rubbed the back of it for a moment with her thumb, gazing at his face. Then she turned to the nurse. "How long until he wakes up?"

The nurse shrugged. "Don't know, hon. Could be a few minutes, hours, days. We don't know how much damage was done. He may not even wake up at all."

Sara nodded slowly, closing her eyes as a tear escaped. Then she looked back at Grissom, putting her hand back on his face. "I'm sorry, Gil. It's not fair." And indeed, it was not fair in Sara's mind. He'd been shot in his own house, left for dead, and just as he was recovering from that, this happened.

__

The nurse, Sara suddenly thought, the image of the small, nervous woman entering Grissom's room as she had left filling her mind. "The nurse did it."

"Excuse me?"

Sara looked up, not realizing at first that she'd spoken aloud. Her eyes were wide as the realization set in. "I need to go. I've just realized something that may help!" she said excitedly. She did remember to kiss Grissom's cheek before rushing out, grabbing her jacket from the room she'd woken up in.

She drove sixty the whole way to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It was only a miracle in her mind that she wasn't pulled over and arrested. She parked her SUV haphazardly before rushing into the building, heading straight for the break room.

She entered, out of breath, and saw Warrick and Catherine sitting at the table. They looked at her with worried expressions. Catherine was the first to speak.

"Grissom?" she asked, having heard of the latest attempt on the supervisor's life. What they hadn't heard, however, was if Grissom had pulled through this time or not.

Sara nodded, sinking into a chair. She felt completely exhausted. "He's alive. They've got him in Intensive Care right now; to keep an eye on him." She looked from Warrick to Catherine. "You guys identified that substance in the IV yet?"

Catherine shook her head. "Not our case. According to protocol, we can't touch it. We were too close to both Grissom and…" she stopped, unsure of how to put the next part.

"Me," Sara supplied knowingly. "You're too close to both the victim _and_ the suspect."

Warrick sighed, setting his coffee cup down. "It's Ecklie's case. He got the first attack, so it makes sense that he would get to work this attack." He looked up at her. "He'll find whoever did this," he told her, though he didn't half-believe it himself.

Sara scoffed. "Ecklie couldn't find a pinecone if it was shoved up his ass." She shook her head. "I need to talk to whoever is in charge, so I guess that's Ecklie."

This heightened Catherine's interest. "Why? Do you know something?"

Sara nodded. "I was leaving Grissom's room, going to my car. And as I was going out, a nurse came in. It was after that that I came back inside –forgot my keys- and Grissom was having problems."

"So…you think that nurse did something to him?" Warrick asked, moving as if to rise from his seat. Sara nodded in reply, and Warrick shot out of his seat. "We need to find Ecklie. You have to tell him, Sara. He can check security cameras to find whoever that nurse was. Then they can find her," Warrick rambled, well aware that both Sara and Catherine knew this.

But Catherine just nodded, standing up as well. "C'mon, Sara. If you don't hurry, that woman could get away. Do it for Gris…"

Sara nodded. As much as she hated Ecklie and knew that he would try to turn this against her, she had to go to him. She had to tell him what she saw, and maybe he could bring in a suspect for her to identify. "Alright."

******

__

He was drowning. He could feel it. The darkness, closing around him, threatening to cut off his contact with life. It was dark, and he was afraid. As a young child, he had been afraid of the dark, but had long grown out of it. But he was scared now. This darkness seemed heavy, like it was trying to choke him.

He saw her. Sara…she was leaving. Then…there was the other. The other woman. She smiled at him, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Instead, her eyes were filled with hatred and pain. She stared at him for a moment, until he asked her what was wrong. Was there some complications with his recovery, he had wondered.

She said nothing was wrong; that she was going to fix everything. She checked the monitors first, then moved over to the IV bag. Pulling a syringe out of her scrub pocket, she said he needed some pain medication. That it would only help him. She tapped the syringe, then inserted it into the IV fluids, sending the brown liquid flowing into the bag, turning the fluids a sickly light brown.

Then she smiled again, and he knew something was wrong. This woman seemed out of place. It was when she adjusted the drip on the IV to its maximum that he fully realized something was wrong. He tried to shout, but it felt as if his lungs had suddenly constricted, causing it to come out as a weak gasp.

She grinned. "Touché, Mr. Grissom_."_

That voice. Her voice…

"You'll pay for what you did…" _The voice…It rang in his memory, haunted his dreams. It was her! He tried to call for help again, but air was becoming scarce. Groping blindly, his hands found the sensors on his chest, to monitor his heart. He pulled them off painfully, barely hearing the shrill wail of the alarms as a heartbeat no longer registered._

His world was pain, and darkness was closing in.

Then nothing. He felt nothing, saw nothing. It was as if he were floating in a black void. He remembered the pain, but there was none now. And the darkness was still choking him.

Sara…

Her name found its way into his thoughts, a bright light slicing through the darkness of his unconsciousness. In her, he saw hope. He knew he must pull through, if only for her. She needed to know. She had to know how he felt. He couldn't let go without her knowing…He had to tell her…

Calvin Rodger's mind was filled with thoughts of eight o'clock, when he could go home and curl up on his couch with the latest movie. He'd been working since seven that morning, with only a rushed break for lunch. Such was the life of an intern; work your ass off all day, crash at home, then get up and do it all over again.

He glanced casually into the rooms as he passed, each filled with patients of varies ailments. He glanced into one room, remembering that he supposed to check one of the patients hourly. Supposed to report any change in their condition.

Sighing at the fact that the clock seemed to only be moving slower, he made his way to the side of the bed. Then he frowned and checked the log. The last time he had checked the pulse, it had been at 60. Now it had jumped up to 85.

__

The light was getting closer, and he felt as if the darkness were pulling away from him. He could breathe…he was free…

Bright light suddenly invaded Grissom's vision, a drastic change from the unending darkness that he had become accustomed to. Slowly, shapes began to form from the light as his eyes suddenly adjusted. One of those shapes, was Calvin Rodger's head, who was staring at Grissom with wide eyes.

Grissom breathed deeply, feeling the cool air as it entered his tired lungs. He vaguely heard Rodger's shouting for a doctor. When Rodgers turned back to him, he grasped his arm. "Sara…" he managed to choke out.

Rodgers nodded. "It'll be alright, sir. We'll get a doctor in here to check you out. Then we'll let you see…Sara. I promise."

Grissom sighed, leaning his head against the pillow. _Everything's going to be ok,_ he thought. _Everything is going to be ok._


	8. Chapter Eight

New chapter! Special thanks to Grissomgal71 for beta-ing this for me!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara made her way from room to room, searching for Ecklie. So far, her search had proved fruitless, and she was running out of places to check. Finally, she spotted two familiar faces in a layout room. She stepped in, noticing what the pictures on the wall were: Grissom's house and hospital room. She froze at the sight, then turned to peer at the two women.  
  
One of the dayshift CSI's looked up after pulling a piece of paper out of a folder. "Hey, Sara," Jamie Cohen said, moving over to settle onto a stool.  
  
Her comment made the other woman, Kimberly Sears, look up as well. "How's Grissom doing?" she asked, looking back down at a stack of papers for a moment.   
  
Sara shrugged. "I don't know. When I left, he was still out of it. They don't know if he'll wake up or not," she said softly. The other CSI's nodded somberly, giving Sara sympathetic glances. Sara shook her head after a moment, remembering why she had come in here. "Have you guys seen Ecklie? I've got new information on Grissom's case."  
  
"It's our case now," Sears said, lifting up an x-ray to study it. Then she put it down, focusing on Sara. "What'cha got?"   
  
Sara hesitated for a moment. "Why is Ecklie off?"  
  
Sears grinned. "He said something about his workload being too heavy, but I think the director made him give it up. He won't be able to be objective, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess." She shrugged again. "I saw something at the hospital. Something I think may help you find the attacker."   
  
Sears and Cohen exchanged a glance as Cohen pulled out a small notebook. "Go ahead," the New York native told her.  
  
Sara looked a little uneasy, but settled down onto another stool. "When I was leaving Grissom's room, a nurse came in. She didn't say anything, but she was the last one in the room." She shook her head. "I know we're not supposed to play hunches or feelings, but I know she was the one who did that to Grissom. I just know it."  
  
Cohen nodded, looking up after she finished writing something. "That could help." She turned to the other dayshift CSI. "Hey, Kimmer. All hospitals have surveillance cameras in the halls, right?" Sears nodded. "What are the chances that one of the cameras caught our 'nurse'?"  
  
Sears smiled, then jumped down from the stool and pulled out a set of car keys. "I'll go ask the hospital for their tapes. We'll see if we can catch a glimpse of our perp." With a nod to Sara, she stepped out, all but jogging to her SUV.   
  
Sara turned back to Cohen after Sears left. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"Well, Kimberly's the A/V ace of the two of us, so she'll be busy on that for a while. Meanwhile I," she held up a small test tube of dark liquid, "need to find out exactly what was put into Grissom's IV."  
  
******  
  
Some time later, Sara found herself in the A/V lab, watching as Sears fast-forwarded through yet another tape. Sara's eyes began to droop after only ten minutes of watching the video, partially due to boredom and partially due to fatigue, but Sears never seemed to lose her edge. When Sara asked her about it, the woman simply commented on years of practice brought about by insomnia.   
  
Suddenly, the tape stopped, and Sears stood up from her seat. She stepped up to the screen, peering closely at a woman in a corner. She studied the image for a moment, then fast-forwarded a few seconds. The camera view changed, now showing a hallway with restrooms. A woman was outside of the restrooms, trying to discreetly shove a cloth bundle into a garbage bin.  
  
Sears went to the computer and pressed a few keys, zooming in and focusing the still-frame. After a few minutes of typing on the keyboard, Sears had managed to get a clear view of the woman's face, and what she was tossing into the garbage. She leaned back in her chair with a grim look on her face "There's your girl. And there are the scrubs she was wearing." She pressed a few more keys, and a moment later, the printer whirred to life.   
  
Sara reached down and pulled the paper from the tray. She studied it for a moment, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then she looked up at Sears. "Let's find Jamie and let her know."   
  
******  
  
"Clopramine," the dayshift CSI said, holding up a piece of paper as Sara and Sears stepped into the layout room.  
  
Sara arched an eyebrow and looked at Sears. Sears just shrugged. "That's a cattle sedative."   
  
Sara gave the criminalist a curious expression. "And you know this because..."  
  
Sears smiled. "I worked at a vet clinic for a few years during high school and my freshman year at LSU."   
  
"Right," Cohen said, giving the paper to Sara. "They found about 7cc's of that stuff in Grissom's IV bag, and the doctors estimate that another 3cc's got into his system. So, we'll just have to track down vet clinics that carry Clopramine. Could be one or all of them; we won't know until we start."  
  
"Well, why don't you see if anyone recognizes her," Sears said, handing Cohen the printout from the camera.  
  
Cohen glanced briefly at Sara and Sears over the top of the paper. "This is your 'nurse'?"  
  
Sara nodded. "I'd recognize her anywhere." She opened her mouth to say more, but cut herself off when her pager began vibrating. Sighing with slight frustration, she plucked it off her belt and peered at the blue display.   
  
Gris awake. Wants to see you. ~N.S.   
  
Sara's eyes darted up to the dayshift CSI's. "Guys, I really have to go."  
  
Cohen nodded. "Fine. Officially, you're not part of this investigation, so..." She gestured to the door, a small smile on her face.  
  
Sara didn't waste a second. Giving the two women one last smile, she all but ran out of the room, heading towards her SUV.  
  
******  
  
The sound of laughter drew Grissom out of his light doze. He tried to lift his head to peer out of the window, but didn't have the strength. He let it fall the short distance back to the pillow with a sigh.  
  
In an instant, Nick was at his side, peering intently at the injured supervisor. "Gris? You need something?"  
  
Grissom opened his eyes again, peering tiredly at the younger man. "No, Nick. I'm fine." The faint sound of gunfire and tires squealing caught his attention. "What is that noise?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Nick glanced over his shoulder. "Just the TV, Gris. You want me to turn it off?"  
  
"No. It's fine." With a small groan, Grissom closed his eyes again, trying desperately to rid himself of the fatigue that plagued him. He'd woken up a few hours before, endured a long hour of the doctors poking and prodding him, then been released back to his room. He'd been given a new IV bag, as well as a few shots that were supposed to clear out his system. He wasn't sure what he had been given; all he knew is that it drained all his energy.   
  
Nick watched as his mentor struggled to sleep. As soon as Grissom had woken up, the doctors had called him, saying that they believed someone familiar should be there with the entomologist. He'd rushed over as fast as his SUV would allow, then sat through the exam. Whenever the doctor had finished with Grissom the first thing he had done was ask for Sara.   
  
The younger CSI glanced at his watch. That had been two hours ago, though he'd only paged her a half an hour earlier. He knew she would come, but he was concerned that someone might try to stop her. Beefing up security, the hospital had stationed two uniformed policemen in Grissom's hall. One was in front of his door, while the other stood by the elevators. Would these cops prevent Sara from entering Grissom's room? Nick hoped not, knowing the fiery brunette was likely to bash the cops' skulls in.   
  
Sighing, Nick grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. He turned back to Grissom, noticing that his breathing had finally become level and steady. He smiled, then stood up and stepped out of the door. The cop nodded at him, then went back to counting the number of spots on a single tile.  
  
The sound of footsteps caught Nick's attention. Those aren't nurse's shoes, he thought to himself, having had a good deal of time to compare the different sounds of different shoes. He looked up and saw Sara making her way towards him, a small smile on her face. He returned the gesture and stepped away from the wall to greet her.  
  
"Hey, Sar. How you holding up?" he asked, genuinely concerned.  
  
She shrugged, her eyes going to the police officer. "I'm fine. How's Grissom?"  
  
"He's sleeping, finally. He woke up and they had to run a lot of tests and stuff. Wiped him out. You still want to go in there?"  
  
She nodded. If only Nick knew how much she had to see Grissom; to see that he was alive and well. Nick turned to the cop and dipped his head slightly, then stepped aside to let Sara in. She turned and gave him a questioning look when he didn't follow her in. He just smiled at her, then shut the door, leaving her alone with Grissom.  
  
She stared at the door for a second before turning to the object of her thoughts. She smiled when she saw him. Grissom's color had returned to his face, and he was no longer connected to any machines. He still seemed weak, and the lines on his face seemed all the more prominent, but he was the most beautiful sight in the world to her.   
  
Reaching out to take his hand, she sank into the chair that Nick had abandoned. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she stared at him, wiping them away with her free hand. She watched his chest rise and fall a few times, then leaned forward. "You need a haircut," she commented quietly, running her hand through the curls.   
  
"That's the style..." she heard him whisper, his voice raspy. He slowly opened his eyes, fixing them on her.  
  
She smiled. "Hey. You feeling any better?"  
  
He returned the smile. "Much. At least I can breathe now."  
  
"When do you get to come home?" she asked, taking hold of his hand again.  
  
He weakly tried to shrug. "Soon. They don't think there's any lasting damage, and my gut's as good as it'll get here. Besides, I think my medical bill is high enough as it is."  
  
She laughed at his attempt to lighten the situation. "Good." Then she looked down at the floor. "Will you go home?" she asked, wondering if he would really be up to returning to the place where he'd been shot.   
  
He blinked slowly, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Where else can I go?"  
  
"You can stay with me. You know, just until you're ready to go back," she added, seeing his questioning gaze.  
  
He smiled, lifting his hand to touch her cheek. "That'd be great." 


	9. Chapter Nine

******  
  
Sears glanced up as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Giving Cohen a small nod, she went back to her phone conversation.  
  
"Ok...so you haven't carried Clopramine in years? Yeah...right...out of date? Ah...yeah...Ok...." Sears looked up at Cohen and gave her an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. Cohen stifled a small laugh, sinking into a chair across the table from the younger CSI. "No...I don't need to see your supplies. Thank you." She hung up the phone quickly, taking the time to strike out a name on a printout before sitting back in the chair. "Fifteen clinics in this area alone. None of them carry that stuff...Say new stuff has come out."  
  
Cohen smirked, turning the paper over to see it better. "Don't look so down."  
  
"Please...I've been awake for roughly twenty-four straight hours. Twelve so far have been spent here. Give me a break."   
  
Cohen gave her a small smile. Having known the Louisiana native since she'd come to Vegas, Cohen knew that she wasn't near as tired as she made it out to be. She tapped the paper. "Still one more."  
  
Sears shook her head. "That one's closed. The vet shut it down about three months ago because he was getting sued left and right." She turned to the wall, losing herself in thought for a moment. "What about Henderson? That's close enough that someone could have gotten it from there..."  
  
Cohen nodded. "Sure. You need the names of the clinics?"  
  
It was Sears' turn to smirk. She reached into a folder and pulled out another piece of paper. "Way ahead of ya, as usual."   
  
Cohen rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Sure..."  
  
The younger CSI smiled, then began reading the list to herself. Then she looked up at Cohen, an undecipherable expression on her face. To Cohen, it looked as if she were planning some maniacal plot. "Hey, Jame...You want to piss Ecklie off?"  
  
"I usually try to avoid that," Cohen said simply, choosing to study the table.   
  
"Well...I was thinking that we could get someone from nights to help us with this. You know...knock out these clinics a little faster?"  
  
Jamie smiled, catching onto the plot. "Pooling our resources? Are we allowed to do that?" she asked, still smiling. The smirk from her colleague was answer enough. "You know, that kind of stuff could get you fired."  
  
Sears rolled her eyes. "Right."  
  
"Seriously. I worked with a girl a few years ago. She called Ecklie an ass, he heard and fired her."  
  
Sears grinned. "Whatever. Let's go find Stokes!" With enthusiasm that would have impressed Greg Sanders, she slid off the stool and rushed out of the room. Cohen smiled to herself, then went after her.   
  
******  
  
Grissom groaned as he reached down to pull a sock on. Stretching the muscles in his abdomen sent fire through his body, but he would not allow himself to give in to it. He felt he had been an invalid for far too long, and didn't want to have to depend on anyone anymore. He managed to get the sock on, then sat up with a small, triumphant smile on his face.  
  
"You look like you just won a gold medal," a familiar voice said. He looked up to see Warrick leaning against the doorjamb.  
  
Grissom held up his hands. "When you've been bed-ridden for weeks on end, anything feels like winning a medal."  
  
Warrick smiled, then made his way into the room, sinking into the chair. "How you feeling, Gris?"  
  
"Good." He smirked when Warrick raised his eyebrow. "Actually, I feel good. Still hurts, but it will for a while, according to the doctors. But they say I'm good to go home."  
  
Warrick broke out into a huge grin. "That's great, Gris. Do they have a specific day?"  
  
"Today, tomorrow. I was just getting ready. I was going to call Sara to come get me."  
  
"Sara's on a case." It was Grissom's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, she felt she needed to get back into some type of 'normal' schedule. You know, back into her routine? Calms her nerves, which have been shot since you were...well...shot."   
  
"That's understandable," Grissom said, his expression unreadable. He stared at his feet for a long moment, then looked back up at Warrick. "So are you playing chauffer?"  
  
Warrick smirked. "Sure am. Here to escort you to the dwelling of your choice in the extravagant CSI SUV."   
  
Gris shook his head, pulling on a dark button-up shirt over a black undershirt. He studied Warrick as he adjusted the collar and began to button it. "I hear days got my case."  
  
The CSI shrugged. "Yeah. Ecklie passed it off, though. Gave it to Cohen and Sears."   
  
Grissom thought for a moment. "Well...I know Cohen's been there for years, 'bout as long as you, Warrick. She's good, I know that. Sears...I don't know her so well."  
  
"Came in a year after Sara got here. Came from Louisiana or something."  
  
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Long way from home."  
  
"Maybe that was the point." Warrick stooped to pick up a pair of shoes. "So, Gris, where you gonna stay?"  
  
Grissom froze, midway through a button. He glanced at the wall for a moment, then looked back up at his friend's face. "Sara's offered to let me stay with her," he finally said, unsure of the reaction he'd get.  
  
To his surprise, Warrick just nodded his approval. "That's good, Gris. She'll be able to keep you in line."  
  
Grissom smiled. "Yeah. I've no doubt of that."  
  
Warrick returned the smile. "Well...I can go flag down a nurse and see if we can get you out of here? Would that work for ya? Or are you too attached to this place?"  
  
"That would be wonderful, Warrick."   
  
******  
  
Nick shivered slightly and pulled his jacket closer around his body. He glanced at his companions--Cohen, Sears, and Vega--for a moment before turning his attention to the building in front of him. It was the fifth vet clinic they'd been to already, and none of them so far had yielded any results. None of the clinics had carried Clopramine or recognized the woman from the surveillance tape.  
  
Cohen was reading off of a piece of paper: "Desert Palms Pet Clinic. Serving the people of Henderson/Las Vegas since 1992. Owned and operated by a Dr. Aaron Ritchie. Employs ten people, not including the doc."  
  
The group stepped through the front door into a crowded lobby filled with clients and their pets. Many of the them watched the group curiously as they passed, and Nick noticed one person who seemed to cower. Vega squeezed between a woman holding a poodle and a man with a lizard at the front desk. He tried to flag down one of the techs, but they were in such a frenzy that they didn't seem to notice him. Finally, he was able to get the attention of one girl who looked like she was still in high school.  
  
"Detective Vega from the LVPD." He gestured towards the others. "Cohen, Sears, and Stokes of the crime lab. We need to speak with Dr. Ritchie."  
  
The girl froze, then nodded and took off down a hall. She returned a moment later and led the group through the lobby into a small kitchen. She asked them to have a seat, saying that the doctor would be able to speak with them in a moment; he was with a client. Sears and Cohen sank into chairs, taking a moment to look over their notes. Vega leaned against a counter, and Nick made his way to a shelf hanging over another counter, peering at the medicines lined up on them.  
  
He snapped on a pair of gloves, reaching deep into the shelves. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling out a large bottle. The criminalists and detective looked up, and he turned the bottle so they could see the label: Clopramine.  
  
Sears raised an eyebrow. "Well then..."  
  
Nick said nothing as he reached into the shelf again. pulling out a second, half-empty, bottle. "Think we found our place?"  
  
Cohen shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough."  
  
The CSI went back to her notes, but her partner, meanwhile, was studying the bottles intently. The curious look on her face reminded Nick of Grissom whenever he found a new bug, and it almost made him laugh. Snapping on her own pair of gloves, Sears stood up and moved over to the bottles. She frowned, first picking up one, then the other, turning them around to study the whole bottle.  
  
"This one's never been opened," she said, almost to herself, as she held up the first bottle. "And this one," she pointed to the first bottle, "seems to be much older, judging by the expiration date."  
  
"And this means..?" Nick asked.  
  
She shrugged. "Dunno. At the moment, it could be nothing." Glancing at the bottles once more, she made her way back to her chair just as a frazzled-looking man stepped inside.  
  
He stopped next to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his lab coat. "I'm Dr. Ritchie. I was told that there were cops who wanted to talk to me?"  
  
Vega moved away from the counter, pulling out his badge. "Detective Vega from the LVPD. This is Sears, Cohen, and Stokes from the crime lab."   
  
The man raised his eyebrows, making his eyes seem abnormally large behind his glasses. "All of you? Geez.what's going on?"  
  
"We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us," Vega said briskly. The vet nodded, and Vega pulled out his notebook. "You carry a chemical called Clopramine, do you not?"  
  
The vet nodded again. "I do. I use it as a sedative when tagging cattle or chipping them. Why?"  
  
"You're the only clinic in the Vegas and Henderson area that uses it, Mr. Ritchie."  
  
The vet shrugged. "Yeah. So?"  
  
Cohen leaned forward, sliding a piece of paper over to Ritchie. "We're investigating an attempted murder. Clopramine was injected into a man's system."  
  
For a long moment, the man didn't move. He just stared at Vega with a blank expression. Finally his eyes shifted to Nick, who was still standing next to the bottles he'd pulled from the shelf. He looked at Cohen, then Sears, and back to Vega. "Wait a minute.You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?"  
  
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Cohen said. "Do you recognize the man in that picture?" she asked, pointing to the paper she had.   
  
The vet leaned forward and peered at the picture, the same photo used on Grissom's ID. He studied it for a long while then shook his head. "No."  
  
Cohen nodded, looking to the youngest CSI. Sears leaned forward and handed the vet another piece of paper, this one containing the picture from the security camera. "Do you recognize her?"  
  
Ritchie stared at the paper for a moment. "Yeah.I do. That's Kenneth's girlfriend. Kenneth Schultz. She comes in sometimes to hang out. Sometimes she'll help the girls a bit."  
  
Vega tilted his head. "Kenneth?"  
  
"Yeah. He's one of my techs. Worked here for about a year." He scoffed. "Kid's kind of an idiot. You have to tell him stuff over and over before he gets it."  
  
Vega exchanged glances with Nick, who stepped away from the counter. "Is Kenneth here now?"  
  
"Yeah. He's in the back, running some blood work. You want to talk with him?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The vet nodded, then stuck his head around the corner, telling the receptionist that he was taking the cops to the back. She nodded, giving him an exasperated look and gesturing towards the small hoard of clients waiting to be seen. He waved her off, then led the group to the very back of the clinic. He pushed open a door and revealed a man standing in a lab. The man turned as the door opened, confusion spreading across his face as he took in the sight of the detective and CSI's.  
  
"Kenneth," the vet said, moving to the side to allow everyone through, "these people are from Vegas. They wanted to ask you a few questions."  
  
The man nodded, then panicked when the vet turned to leave. "Wait! You're not gonna stay in here with me?"  
  
Ritchie shook his head. "No. I have a dozen clients up front that need help. If you're in trouble, you're on your own."  
  
Schultz worked his mouth wordlessly as the doctor stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nick stared at the door for a moment before turning to study the suspect.  
  
Schultz was probably in his mid-twenties, close-cropped hair topping off a thin face. His eyes were small, and he gave Cohen the overall impression of a weasel. He wiped his hands on a towel before turning to face Vega completely.  
  
"Yeah?" he asked rudely.  
  
"Do you recognize this man?" Vega asked, holding up the photograph of Grissom.  
  
Schultz tried to keep a stoic expression, but a facial tic at the corner of his mouth gave him away. "No," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Why?"  
  
"Because your girlfriend may be involved in an attempted homicide."  
  
"Homicide? What are you talking about? Jennifer? What the hell is going on?"  
  
"We're investigating the attempted homicide on the life of Dr. Gil Grissom. The name ringing any bells?" Cohen asked, irritation seeping into her voice. She knew they should be looking for more evidence, but she knew in her gut that this man had something to do with the attack on Grissom.  
  
"Nope. Can't say that it does."  
  
"Well.we have pictures taken from a surveillance video and an eyewitness placing your girlfriend ?Jennifer, was it??at the crime scene," she said, holding up the photos of the woman for him to see.  
  
He glanced at them for a moment, then turned back to the lab machines. "I don't see where you're going with this."  
  
Vega stepped forward, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I think you need to?"  
  
The detective never got a chance to finish. Before anyone could react, the man whirled around out of the detective's grasp. He slammed his fist against Vega's shoulder, and the man cried out as a sharp pain erupted through his arm. Schultz pushed him backwards into the counter, then took off through another door.  
  
Nick darted forward to catch the detective as he fell, and both female CSI's rushed after the suspect, weapons drawn. They found him stuck in a small room lined with cages, prying at the door to the outside. He whipped around to face the women, a wild look on his face.  
  
"Don't move," Cohen warned, stepping slowly towards him.   
  
"You really don't want us to have to use these, do you?" Sears asked, also advancing on the man. He glanced at the door, and contemplated wrenching the gun away from one of them and making another run for it. Those plans, however, didn't get very far, as Vega and Nick stepped through his escape route a second later. Nick also had his gun drawn, and Vega held a hand to his injured shoulder.  
  
The detective handed Nick a pair of handcuffs, and Nick proceeded to cuff the man's hands behind his back. He cast a glance at Vega, then drug the suspect out of the room, Sears following close behind.  
  
Vega winced as he moved his arm, and Cohen stepped up to him. "Here. Let me see." She pulled back one side of his shirt, rolled up the sleeve of his undershirt, and peered at the wound. "Looks like a needle puncture. He stab you with a needle?"   
  
Vega nodded, holding up the syringe Nick had pulled from his arm. Cohen took it and began inspecting it. "Doesn't look like it's been used, but I can run some tests to make sure. You got a first aid kit in your squad car?"  
  
The detective nodded. "Yeah. I'll just stick some anti-biotic and gauze on it. Just stings like hell."  
  
Cohen smirked good-naturedly. "I'll bet." She glanced at the door where Nick had disappeared. "Shall we find Mr. Schultz' girlfriend?"  
  
A smile was Vega's only answer. 


	10. Chapter Ten

"Sara said she'd be at her apartment by the time we got there," Warrick said, turning to look at the older man in the seat next to him. Grissom had his head leaned against the window, his eyes closed. Warrick shut his mouth quickly, not wanting to wake the supervisor up.   
  
But as soon as Warrick spoke, however, Grissom's eyes fluttered open. "Hmm....that's good," he slurred, still not completely awake. He'd been given some pain medication before being discharged, and one of the side effects was that it made him very tired, no matter how much he slept. He was glad they hadn't sent the same medicine home with him, otherwise he'd get nothing done except sleep.   
  
Grissom fought to sit up straight, peering at the road as Warrick drove. Usually, Warrick drove like a madman, swerving between cars in moves that would make NASCAR's finest envious. But today, with a still ailing Grissom as a passenger, Warrick was driving more like a normal citizen--not exceeding the speed limit by more than ten. He drove slowly around curves as well, not wanted to jostle Grissom too much.  
  
They made it from the hospital in record time, regardless of how careful Warrick had been. Spotting Sara's SUV parked in the front, Warrick pulled up behind it, parking his Denali and shutting it off.  
  
He opened his door and was about to go help Grissom, but the CSI supervisor had already opened his door and was slowly getting out. He grimaced as he straightened up, putting his hand against the car for support. Warrick watched him for a moment, and then decided it was best to let Grissom try to walk on his own. Trying to offer his help when it wasn't wanted would only get him a rare Grissom-outburst. He'd seen it himself only a few times before, but he didn't want to bear the brunt of it when Grissom's patience finally snapped.   
  
Grabbing the bags from the backseat, he watched as Grissom slowly made his way around the car. Catching the younger man's worried gaze, he smirked. "It doesn't hurt that much, Warrick. I just don't think I'm fully awake. Plus my foot fell asleep in the car."   
  
Warrick smiled back, then took his place beside Grissom, matching his pace. Warrick had to admit Grissom was walking pretty well. Upon leaving the hospital, the nurses had forced him to sit in a wheelchair as he went to the car. He'd grumbled and cursed about it, but had no choice but to comply. It was either sit in the chair and go home, or refuse and stay in the hospital for a few more days. Grissom decided that enduring the short ride in the chair was much better.  
  
They finally made it to the building and up to the stairs. Grissom paused at the stairs and looked up at them dreadfully. He turned to Warrick. He said nothing, but the expression on his face was clear enough.  
  
"Let me go see if there's an elevator," Warrick offered, setting the bags down at the foot of the stairs. He glanced at Grissom, who was moving to lean against the wall, and entertained the thought of asking if he would be all right waiting for him. He stopped himself just in time, thinking of what Grissom had said the last time his patience had run out.   
  
Grissom sighed and watched as Warrick stepped around a corner, leaning his back against the brick wall. Walking had helped his system begin to filter out some of the medication he'd been given, and he was feeling much more awake. At least he didn't think he would fall flat on his face, asleep, anytime soon.   
  
The sound of footsteps above his head attracted his attention, and he looked up to follow them as they moved over his head. The footsteps then left the floor and proceeded down the stairs. Slightly curious, Grissom turned his head to see who was on their way towards him. To his surprise, it was Sara.  
  
It was obvious she had just gotten off a case. She was dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt, probably her comfort 'after-work' clothes. She smiled broadly when she saw Grissom, and he couldn't help but return the infectious grin.  
  
She stepped up to where he was as he moved away from the wall, throwing her arms around his neck. It startled him at first, but he soon recovered and wrapped his arms around her as well. She turned and kissed his cheek gently, then buried her face in his neck. He kept one hand on her back, moving it in small circles. His other hand moved up to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair.  
  
After a moment she pulled back, looking up at his face. "Good to see you up and around."  
  
He moved his hand up to the side of her face, gently caressing her cheek. "Good to see you," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He gazed at her face for a long moment, as if memorizing every part of it, finally meeting her eyes. He smiled gently at her, then leaned down to capture her lips in a soft kiss. It took a moment for the initial shock to wear off, but she soon found herself returning it. He pulled back after a moment, resting his forehead on hers.  
  
She smiled. "Well, hello to you too!"  
  
He laughed. "Sorry. I've just been wanting to do that for a while now."   
  
"Don't be sorry." She looked around. "How'd you get here, Gris? I thought Warrick was going to get you? He leave?"  
  
Grissom shrugged, glancing around as well. "I don't know where he went. I think he was looking for an elevator."  
  
"It's that way," Sara said, pointing.  
  
At that moment, they heard more footsteps coming their way, and Warrick stepped into view a few seconds later from around a corner. He raised his hands. "There you are, Sara. I went up to your apartment, but no one answered the door. Oh yeah, I found the elevator, Gris."  
  
"Me too. It's that way," he said, mimicking Sara's earlier gesture.   
  
Warrick let out a small laugh. "All right you two." Shaking his head, he grabbed the bags again, then made his way towards the elevator, Grissom and Sara close behind.   
  
** ****  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Sara. Catherine."  
  
"Catherine? Hey. What's up?" Sara sat up, yawning. While waiting for Gris to get out of the shower, she'd attempted to take a nap on her couch. She'd only just begun nodding off when the phone rang.  
  
"How's Gil doing?"  
  
Sara glanced towards the bathroom door, seeing it slightly ajar. She moved her head, trying to peer inside. She heard the water of the sink running, and the tell-tale sounds of someone brushing their teeth. "He's good."  
  
"Good..." Catherine sounded distant, as if she had something to say, but didn't want to say it.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"We got 'em."  
  
Sara's eyes widened, and she took a second to think about how much impact a single statement could carry. She shifted on the couch, unconsciously lowering her voice. "You got 'em?" she parroted. "Who? Where?"  
  
Catherine shuffled some papers, even though she knew the details by heart. "Kenneth Schultz and Jennifer Anderson. Mr. Schultz was a vet tech at an animal clinic in Henderson; Anderson's his girlfriend."  
  
"You guys interrogated them yet?"  
  
"Not yet. Schultz attacked Vega when the days guys found him, so he spent the night in the county jail. Plus, they wanted to have the girlfriend in custody before they did anything."  
  
Sara glanced at the bathroom door again, seeing the light off and the door open. Grissom must have finished and gone into the bedroom. She turned to glance out of a window. "When are they going to start?"  
  
"Well...that's kind of what I called you for. Do you know if Grissom wants to be there when they interrogate them? Or do you think that would be too much? I mean, we were going to ask him to verify the woman's voice from what he remembers, but we can do without that evidence if push comes to shove."  
  
"Umm...hang on a sec. Let me ask him." Setting the phone down on the arm of the couch, Sara padded into the bedroom, where Grissom was sitting on the bed, pulling on his shoes.  
  
He looked up when she approached the door and grinned. "Hey. There's still hot water left, so don't worry."   
  
Sara smiled, then turned serious. "Gris, Catherine's on the phone."  
  
Grissom's eyebrows raised. "And?"  
  
"They found them," she said, just as simply as Catherine had told her.  
  
She watched as Grissom's face went through a myriad of emotions. Fear, triumph, and anger were just a few that she saw before he turned his head to stare at the wall in front of him. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Good."   
  
"She wants to know if you can watch the interrogation."  
  
Grissom didn't move, instead choosing to remain staring at the wall. Then he turned to Sara, the resolution clear on his face. "Yes."  
  
Sara nodded, then hesitated a moment before going back to the phone. She studied Grissom for a moment, seeing just how tired he looked. She shook her head sadly, then went to the couch. "Catherine? Yeah, he'll go. When are they going to do it?"  
  
*******  
  
To Grissom, being able to walk through the glass halls of the crime lab was like coming home. It was a place that he knew every nook and cranny of, and almost every person in it. He passed by the DNA lab, catching a grin from Sanders, who was staying late on a case again. A few of the other lab techs approached him, all saying how much they had missed him and looked forward to his coming back to work. He was certain he'd never met a few of them.  
  
They saw Cohen outside of one of the interrogation rooms and headed in her direction. She looked up from her notes and grinned. She nodded at Sara, then extended a hand to Grissom, who shook it.   
  
"Jamie Cohen," she said.  
  
He smiled. "I think we've met," he said, knowing she didn't need to hear his name.  
  
"Been a while. Anyway," she said, falling back into her 'CSI' mode. "Deputies brought the suspects in from the county prison. We sent a few guys over to their apartment, and they should be done anytime." She gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"  
  
Sara nodded, then put her hand on Grissom's back as they stepped into the room. Grissom's face was undecipherable as he moved up to the glass, peering at the two figures seated at the table. He studied Schultz for a moment, then turned to the brunette woman.   
  
Jennifer Anderson looked as though she could be a dancer, with a pretty face framed with flowing hair. But it became obvious, by her demeanor, that she was not a pleasant person to be around. She had an air about her that said 'I'm better than you'. But she also looked scared, something Grissom noticed quickly. He felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he peered at them, realizing that these people had tried to kill him, twice.  
  
He felt Sara's hand on his back, and was entirely grateful for it. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and took a seat.   
  
Cohen moved up beside the glass, leaning against the wall. "That's them. Woman's name is Jennifer Anderson. She was the 'nurse' you saw at the hospital," she said, looking at Grissom for a moment. "The man is Kenneth Schultz, a veterinary technician at Desert Palms Pet Clinic."  
  
"So, he's the one that supplied the Clopramine," Sara said quietly, moving her hand down to grasp Grissom's.  
  
"Yeah. Snagged it while his boss was out on a farm call. None of the other techs knew it was missing, but the vet did. Seems he has a habit of taking stuff with him and not saying anything, though he does write it down in his personal records."  
  
Grissom and Sara's eyes went to the door as it opened, letting Sears and Vega into the room. The man scowled, looking as if he wanted to strangle the both of them. Vega glared back, but the CSI chose to ignore it. She took a seat at the table, a small smile on her face.  
  
"Ms. Anderson, Mr. Schultz," she began, looking at each of them in turn. "Do you know why you're here?"  
  
Schultz shrugged. "Hell if I know. This is all some big mistake."  
  
The impish smile never left the young criminalist's face. "You're here for the attempt on the life of Dr. Gil Grissom on January 5." She held up a hand when Schultz tried to speak. "And for the attempt on Mr. Grissom's life three days ago."  
  
Schultz leaned forward in his chair, his face red. "I don't know what your're talking about. This is false arrest! I've never even heard of a Dr. Grissom!"  
  
Sears held up a photograph, then slid it across the table. "These are from a surveillance camera at Memorial Hospital, taken moments after the most recent attempt on Mr. Grissom's life." She turned to Anderson. "That's you."  
  
The woman stared at the photos, seeing her face clearly captured by the camera. There was no way she could deny that it was her. "So?"  
  
"We have a reliable eyewitness putting you as the last person to enter Mr. Grissom's room the day he was attacked. The person who used this," she slid a syringe in an evidence bag across the table, "to inject a dangerous amount of sedative into his IV, with intent to kill."  
  
Anderson stared at the syringe for a moment, then turned away, her face blanching.  
  
"Clopramine," the CSI said suddenly, smiling when she saw Schultz's face twitch in recognition. "You know what that is, Mr. Schultz. I checked with your employer, Dr. Ritchie. He tells me that he has found a significant amount of Clopramine missing from his stock."  
  
Schultz snorted. "The man doesn't even know how many employees he has, much less how much of a drug."  
  
"But he is rather organized, with his personal notes. Writes down every injection he gives. And..." the CSI flipped through some papers, "he hasn't given Clopramine in four months. Yet the bottle he just ordered last month is missing 20cc's."  
  
Schultz narrowed his eyes, then looked up as the door opened again. A man stepped inside, clad in a CSI vest bearing the name 'Carter', clutching a brown paper bag in his hand. He stepped up to Sears and Vega, speaking softly to them.  
  
After a moment, the man stepped back out, and Sears sat down with the bag in her hand. She glanced up at Schultz and Anderson as she pulled out the contents. "We got a search warrant for your home after you were arrested. We found these ," she said, holding up two evidence bags; one contained a handgun, while the other held a half-empty medicine bottle. "How much do you want to bet that this is Clopramine in this bottle? Or that this gun's bullets match those from the first attack? Or how much do you want to bet that your fingerprints were found at both crime scenes?"   
  
Sears smiled and leaned forward. "Just the final nails in your coffins. You want to say anything?"  
  
Schultz fidgeted for a moment. "It was all her idea!" he finally exclaimed. "It was all for her!"  
  
"Kenneth!" Anderson shouted, turning to him in shock. He refused to look at her, studying the table instead.  
  
Vega took a step forward, leaning on the table a bit to see Schultz better. "Why don't we start from the top?"  
  
Kenneth's eyes darted to Anderson for a moment, then went to Vega. "She's been watching that guy for a long time. Has something against him; she said she wanted him dead. So a few weeks ago, she tells me this crazy plan to break into this guy's house and make him pay."  
  
"So...you go and do it?" Sears asked, finding it hard to believe that murder was something you just got up and did.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, Jenni was really messed up about it. I figured he'd done something horrible to her. So...Well, we waited one night until we saw him come back to his house. We followed him up to his house, then broke in a few minutes after he got inside..."   
  
~~*******~~  
  
He was in his living room, his back to them as he flipped through a collection of CD's. At a signal from Anderson, Schultz rushed forward, slamming the butt of his gun into the guy's head. He let out a strangled cry, then crumpled to the floor, out like a light.  
  
Anderson stared at his unconscious body for a moment, the anger and hatred boiling over. She stepped past Schultz, kneeling down and grabbing a handful of Grissom's curly hair.   
  
"You'll pay for what you did..." she whispered, watching as his eyes fluttered open.   
  
"What did-" he tried to ask.  
  
She stood up as he began to speak, kicking him the side. "Shut up!" she screamed, hearing him grunt as her boot made contact. She kneeled down again, roughly shoving the gun Schultz had given her against his neck. "Move, and you're dead. And I really hope you do try something," she whispered, imagining how good it would feel to put an end to his life, to finally rid herself of this man who haunted her nightmares.   
  
She looked up at her boyfriend, who was giving her a confused expression. Glancing down at Grissom for a moment, she made her way over to him. "I want to see if he keeps some kind of diary...or if he has something about Mike." Schultz nodded, then moved to dig through the spare bedroom as Anderson searched the master bedroom. She looked around for a moment, then paused. Something wasn't right...something was making an odd noise.  
  
She stepped out into the living room, seeing Gil Grissom still on the floor. But he had pulled out a cell phone, and was seconds away from calling someone. Her anger beginning to boil again, she rushed over to him, kicking the phone from his grasp and watching as it skidded across the floor. He yelped in pain, then rolled over, presumably to attack her.   
  
But she never gave him the chance. Just as he rolled onto his back, she slammed the gun into his head again. He jerked once, then fell back onto the floor, quite out of it.   
  
"Kenneth!" she called, only having to wait a moment until he poked his head around the corner. "Help me get him into that other room. I need to go through those shelves," she said, pointing to the cluttered shelves adorning a whole wall. He nodded, then grabbed Grissom's feet and drug him into the bedroom. He half-tossed the criminalist against the far wall, then went back to help Anderson with the shelves.  
  
Roughly ten minutes later, they heard a thump coming from the back room. They exchanged glances, and Schultz went to see what was going on. He stepped up to the doorjamb, catching a glimpse of the CSI leaning against the wall, shaking the fog from his head.  
  
"Hey!" he shouted, momentarily panicking. He knew what this guy did for a living, and knew that if his face was seen, there would be no escaping jail. He reached for his gun without thought, being shaken from his fuzzy state of mind only when he heard the gunshot. Then he stared in shock as Grissom groaned, a hand clutching his stomach, which was bleeding rather badly. He watched as Grissom slid down the wall to the floor, leaving a vivid blood smear on the wall...  
  
~~********~~  
  
Sara glanced at Grissom as Schultz finished up his story. Grissom's face, for the most part, showed no emotion. But she could see a little bit of strain near his mouth, telling her that he was restraining himself from jumping through the glass and strangling both suspects. He looked down for a moment, sighing deeply. Cohen gave him a sympathetic look, patting his back gently. Sara squeezed his hand.  
  
For a long moment, Sears seemed speechless. Then she ran a hand over her mouth, leaning on the table with her elbows. "And the second time?"  
  
Schultz shrugged. "She said she needed to finish the guy off. Asked me to get something that would work quick, but secret, you know? So I grabbed some of that stuff," he nodded to the plastic bottle of Clopramine, " from work and gave it to her. I never heard anything more about it 'til you guys came into the clinic yesterday."  
  
Sears nodded, turning to look at Anderson, who was refusing to look away from the table. The CSI adopted a confused expression. "I don't get it, Jennifer. What could this man do to make you hate him so? What did he do that made him deserve death?"  
  
The woman slowly looked up from the table, pinning Sears with a menacing glare. "He killed my brother."  
  
Sara felt Grissom's sharp intake of breath at the woman's statement. Then he shook his head, unable to understand what Anderson was talking about.  
  
Vega made a face. "How so?"  
  
"He sent him to Death Row. My brother was accused of killing his girlfriend, but he didn't do it! And that man's lie on the witness stand made the judge send him to prison." She scoffed. "Death by lethal injection. All because that guy lied."  
  
Grissom shook his head, the old case coming back to him. "Mike Anderson. Convicted of killing his eighteen-year-old girlfriend in '96. We found the murder weapon in his house, with his prints all over it." He shook his head again. "He confessed to the crime. There was no way he could have been innocent."  
  
They watched as Anderson wiped her eyes. "Mike was everything to me. And I died when he did." She looked up at the criminalist again. "I just wanted him to know how it felt."  
  
Sears shook her head, moving to stand up from the table. She said nothing, just motioned for Vega to cuff the suspects. She stepped out of the door, allowing two other officers in.  
  
Grissom, Sara, and Cohen looked up as she stepped through the door to the observation room. The young criminalist looked as tired as Cohen had ever seen her. She shook her head as she approached the other CSI's. "People never cease to amaze and disgust me."   
  
Sara nodded, her hand making small circles on Grissom's back as she tried to comfort him. He looked up at the days CSI's. "You guys did really good. And...I do appreciate all you did."   
  
Sears smiled. "No problem. Just doing our jobs."  
  
Grissom returned the smile. "And doing them very well." He extended his hand. "You must be Sears."  
  
She shook it, giving him an impish grin. "Sure am." She then turned serious, knowing that it must have been hard for him to have heard the confession. "You going to be all right?"  
  
Grissom looked up at Sara, then nodded slowly. "Yeah...I think I will be. At least now I will."  
  
END   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Well, that's it! That's the end to my long-in-progress story! I want to thank everyone who's ever left a review! You guys have no idea how much those mean to me! And a special thanks must go out to my good friend and beta, Grissomgal71, for looking over these last few chapters for me!  
  
Moving on to bigger and (hopefully) better things now! Hope you guys enjoyed the story as much as I did writing it!  
  
~Gris 


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